


Pearlescent dragon, purple prose - part 1

by Eldritch_Screech



Series: HPHM prompt fics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, HPHM imagines, Multi, prompts, y/n ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldritch_Screech/pseuds/Eldritch_Screech
Summary: A 28 old Thunderbird witch, urbane and a little blase – you are granted an art residency at the international dragon reserve, hidden deep between Romanian plains and Carpathian mountains. The artworks you produce will grace the pages of a book you're contraced to write – if only inspiration had flown as freely as the scaly beasts in the air here...





	1. Pearlescent dragon, purple prose - part 1

**Author's Note:**

> [A request from @fairyfay30 on Tumblr: Hi! I'd love a Y/N fic with Charlie x Visiting American Witch (Thunderbird?) who is writing a picture book ft. a dragon but has writer's block. On her last day, she & Charlie meet when he somehow sees her sketches & he just HAS to go talk to her (cuz dragons)! There's a Before Sunrise chemistry going on between them. He even inspires her to finish the story! Tho, they don't meet again, they will remember the encounter, esp. since her book becomes popular and Charlie is mentioned! Thanks! : )]
> 
> A/N This is PART 1 where YOU are introduced and various mentions are made of the elusive star handler that comes back to the campsite the day before your last. In part 2 You'll meet Charlie Weasley, the man and the legend himself, and spend 24 hours with him – your outlook on nature and creatures drastically changed in the process.

 

 

 1.

( _30th August, 2000_ _[19:00]_ _)_

"Steady, you can move now-", the man by your side whispers, his voice strained but body language relaxed – he tries to look unassuming, body bent slightly and legs spread apart, sure and steady on the ground.

You marvel at how somebody so tall and broad can merge into his surroundings this quick. _Years of practice,_ you figure. Even he flinches when a puff of smoke rises from the ground though, where a huge snout is pointed right into your direction.

There's a dragon five times your size some few feets in front of you, and it has just started waking up.

 This wasn't planned.

 You take a step back, legs wobbly like cotton candy and palms sweaty. The ink on the sketch is going to smudge where you grip its edge. A shame – there won't be another chance with the Ridgeback anymore. _Maybe it's for the better_ \--the earth thrums under creature's weight when it starts to stir. It gives the floor a mighty pound with its tail and the ground splits where its pointy end lands.

 _This is madness_ , you think, rooted to the ground. On the bright side, you probably could add the tip of the tail if you were really efficient about it-

"Y/L/N, be quicker about it", Olly urges then, eyes dashing between you, frozen on the spot, and the slowly waking creature. You let the pen fall to the ground, forgotten in your mortification. The sketches you hold to your chest like a newborn baby however – willing to fight anyone-any _thing_ to save them.

The man next to you gestures to move slowly, points to a boulder not so far away; you've left your bag and tube for carrying loose artworks somewhere there. More rocks crop up behind, lining a safe route towards the forest. The two of you could sneak from one outcropping to another, shielded from the dragon's sight like that.

 _The smell would be another thing_ , you notice and your breath hitches as the two of you plaster yourself to the rocks and dash towards another formation. Olly tells you to put some mud on yourself then, _quick_ , to mask the scent and you send him an offended glare.

"The sketches-", you argue, unwilling to put them anywhere on the damp and muddy ground. _Where's the damn tube..._

"Screw sketches, there won't be any book if you get scorched", he admonishes you, head tilted towards the dragon and a grimace on his broad, weather beaten face.

"The tubes are fire-proof-", you try again and he sends you a glare that silences you for the time being. As your main guide here, you heed his words most of the time – it could cost your life if you didn't, the director very empathically told you as the month had begun. Olly isn't his real name though – it's Bertram actually, but who has time for this. This is how he introduced himself anyway.

The Norwegian Ridgeback blinks and its eyes shot open, blearily at first (Olly tells you _her_ name is Norberta...come on) and the creature beats its tail on the ground a few times more, mouth the size of a car trunk split in scores of sharp teeth-

The dragon then yawns and stretches a little. You look in awe at the nimbness – its body is big like a sizeable truck but there's no lagging or heaviness here at all. The creature arches its back like a cat, bearing its weight on the hind legs - and the black ridges on the back rise up as Norberta becomes more alert

"Aww", you coo despite yourself, moved by the beast so huge and so- _adorable,_ could you use this word here? You never were a creature fan – try squishing it into a shoe box apartment, especially when magical enlargement needed a costly license in NYC. _No thank you!_

Just then you manage to snag the tube and you hiss with triumph, pushing the sketches in and screwing the lid shut with the tips of your fingers. Just in time, because the very next second a lump of mud lands on your head, cold and _watery_ and you moan silently, grossed out.

Russet liquid streams down your face and Olly merely shrugs at your death glare, smearing the dirt on his face and neck hurriedly. You follow suit - barely willingly - and push his hand when he hands you another portion.

"I'll ruin my clothes myself", you drone. Cavorting in mud turns out to be fun – but you'd be caught dead before ever admitting to it.

Slowly and step by step after Olly goes first, you make your way from one rocky formation to another, the ground lifting steadily as you climb it. The wind is favourable for the time being; both of you start thinking about relaxing - and in the hindsight this probably wasn't the best moment for it.

By the forest edge you stop and turn away, feeling safe, now that you've left the dragon a sizeable distance behind you. Olly and you share a satisfied smile; grime caking your skin stretches and breaks along the lines of your grinning mouth.

"Beautiful, isn't she? Told ya she'd be worth it", Olly crows, eyes shining as if the dragon below was the most precious thing he's ever seen. _The dragon nerds..._

"Yeah, not my fav-", you start saying-

Just then the wind changes direction, a mighty gust almost cutting at your legs, and you wiggle precariously. Summers here are violent, and it looks like another storm is brewing – a lightning slashes through the suddenly steely sky and a telltale noise follows soon enough. It's getting close and the dragon looks about to move – it shields itself in the woods, Olly told you before you set out.

It's better hurry and _leave_ then.

"Won't it notice us?", you stammer weakly, observing how the beast lifts its head and starts outright sniffing around. Olly's face grows long now.

"It's _Norberta_ , and she already did", he deadpans, hand already on your arm. "Prepare for the apparition, there's a designated zone, four hundred meters from here". Olly is a seasoned handler – and you almost trust him, at least more than the others. Crazy lot, those people after all...

He pulls you after him, hand vice-like on your wrist.

"Charlie is gonna kill me, she's _his_ baby girl", he keeps muttering under his breath and it'd be amusing if it wasn't actually true. You've heard a variation of this kind of (not quite) joking fear from several staff you've met – and the man himself grew to be sort of like a ghost in your mind. Or a myth; people here surely idolized him. But you can't really spare any more thought to his ire – Norberta is hot on your trail, angry because you're _trespassing_.

It's difficult to sprint in all the mud when all the movement you do back in NYC is sauntering to and from the taxis, but you manage somewhow – like it or not, you are a Midwestern gal at heart. You know your mud - and your corn field mazes; there's no way you will let the dragon catch up to you as you zip from one tree to another.

The earth is heavy and surprisngly unyielding and you stumble a few times. _Good for the leg day, goodforthelegday-_

You probably should move more.

The dragon behind you lets out a deafening roar and lifts itself up to get a better look, eyes zoning in on your retreating figures – she's noticed you hidden beneath a tree trunk. Heart rides right up to your throat and you feel like vomiting – thank god you'll be home soon, no more of this rustic nonsense!

The last thing you see before the apparition point sucks you in is how majestic Norberta looks after all, standing on her back legs, wings spread as far as possible and trees breaking under her weight like toothpicks. She's beyond rattled--

_That Charlie dude will kill you both_ _for this_ _._

 

2.

( _30th August, 2000_ _[19:20]_ _)_

You make it onto the main campsite, caked in mud and wheezing from exertion. Olly has splinched the tiniest bit and a colleague approaches him right away, wand already in hand and a healing spell muttered grumpily. You look at their bantering and smile apologetically when she looks at you, eyes searching.

"What the hell have the two of you been doing?", the woman asks suspiciously and you gulp audibly.

It's not like you can really tell her the truth, not if Olly is worried that-

"Oh, we just visited old Norberta, ya know", he prattles then, effectively blowing all the possible covers you could come up with, and you want to wipe that stupidly proud smile he's wearing, badly.

His friend's brows ride up, almost to the line of the platinum blonde hair she has styled into the tightest pony you've ever seen. You stop breathing for a sec-

"Charlie is going to eviscerate you, _the both of you_ ", she drawls, the amused crinkle in her eyes not at all offsetting the bloodthirsty satisfaction in her voice. You already like her – Gladys, that's her name, you remember now. A mad professional healer she is, given how she didn't even use the wand at all – merely flicked her finger and Olly was done and cared for. Impressive.

The man laughs back at her, a troubled look on his face and sheepish smile dancing on his lips. He gives his hair a ruffle and massages his neck a little.

"Well, before he does so, maybe you two would like to go for a drink to the canteen?",the handler asks, wiggling his brows at the blonde. You wonder if his husband would appreciate that – but all seems friendly between them and you're not the one to pry. This is a blatant lie, by the way – you breathe for the gossip, but this isn't it. Olly and Aurel are as strong as a couple can be.

"I can't really, gotta write something after all – the book...?", you excuse yourself, feeling a bit guilty.

"Oh come on, Y/N", Olly whines, a glint in his eyes. "Charlie is back, you can finally meet. Tell him about the dragon, _the it-pronoun_ \---".

Gladys lets out a strained laugh and seizes you with her eyes.

"She didn't--", the woman drawls, eyes growing big. Olly laughs in answer, patting you on the arm good-naturedly. His hand is heavy and somehow it feels like you are now bound for a gouillotine execution. Fun!

"She did! He's gonna be _delighted_ ", his voice is booming and a tall researcher passing by just then gives you all a shushing hiss. He looks positively scandalized.

"Can it, _the draklings are in the nursery_ ", he seethes and the three of you fall into a shifty silence, the kind preschoolers might try to maintain and fall.

"Much as I want to meet my doom-", you whisper conspirationally and grin at the duo in front of you, "I have a deadline approaching and wrote nothing for the final chapter thus far. I've got to give them something, at least", you grumble and your face falls.

_You had so much fun, real life kind of got forgotten..._

They don't pester you much after this admission and the three of you make your way towards the canteen – you figured you'd take the dinner back home tonight. People don't seem to mind how muddy Olly and you look – comes with the job after all. Still, you want something clean on your back, asap.

You split behind the entrance, you making a beeline towards Aurel, Olly's husband, who's manning the kitchen today. Your guide sends him a wave and a kiss and disappears in the sea of the people flocking after the day's shift; the night shifters have already left. It's buzzing with voices and laughter and you need to _get out_. The grim and mud irk you, now that people can see you.

Like Charlie, you can bump into him any second now, you just never know-

"Y/N", Aurel greets you, eyes crinkling around the edges. "Quite an adventure today, I've heard".

 _What, already_? Those people gossip like mad – you've entered not a minute ago! You mumble something about Olly running his mouth non-stop and the man in front of you laughs out loud. Compared to Olly's grizzled appearance, Aurel looks positively Apollonian and his laughter is like-you words fail you, to be honest. He's definitely very precious and your favourite in here.

"It's actually Fabian – the nursery post-doc you've met today?", Aurel points out and gives his beard a thoughtful touch. You remember the tall guy all right.

"And he just happened to overhear?", you ask skeptically, eyes rolling hard. The man in front of you merely barks out a laugh and signals for somebody to pack your dinner already.

"It's Loubia stew today, try not to love it", Aurel gushes and kisses his fingers theatrically. You know you will – haven't disliked anything they cook here since you'd come. "Gonna miss making all those fancy dairy alternatives for you", the man lilts and smiles fondly at you; a very warm feeling splashes in your chest all of the sudden. Only a month and you prefer those people to half of NYC literati circles, no-maj or otherwise. Not difficult feat, you reckon – but still, they're one of a kind.

He hands you a styrofoam box and you thank him profusely, waving to the cook who gives you the package as well. You're turning on your foot to head towards the exit when Olly's voice reaches you, booming loud.

"Y/N, come to us! Charlie, I told you about-"

It's easy enough to spot Olly not far from you – he's at least 6.7 feet tall, broad like a grizzly bear. Gladys is smirking at somebody standing right in front of him; Charlie, you assume. His ponytail is a shock of red; last rays of sun filtering through the window illuminate it till it looks like a flame and your heart falls into your stomach heavily. _Just like that older Pukwudgie_ _boy_ _that broke my heart in 6th year..._

He's wearing jeans and cool suede jacket _and_ dragon skin boots and even if he's way smaller than the man in front of him, the redhead exudes something difficult to grasp--- he projects some coolness that makes others gravitate towards him, and you take a step back. _You don't need to see his face, you don't want to see it..._

"Hey, Y/L/N, where are you-", Olly tries to wave you towards them but you're well on your way back. _I'm a thunderbird, abeastofthunder_ , you chant in your head ferociously - but legs carry you outside still. You only caught a glimpse of a broad, clean shaved face moving into your direction-

And you're scuttering back towards your house, feeling ashamed just like after getting rejected by that Other redhead, but for all the different reasons this time.

 

3.

( _30th August, 2000_ _[20:00]_ _)_

Back home it's a refreshing shower for you, clothes peeled off and dumped in a sad pile. They're so stiff with grime they could stand on their own, you think and shiver. You never had as much fun as today though.

A quick reheating spell not long after and truly, the Moroccan stew is a heaven for the taste buds. You hum to yourself contentedly and take the box to the trash when it's licked clean. Then you stand by the sink, looking into the kitchen of the house right next to you, fingers drumming against the tiled counter absentmindedly.

You blink then – it's Charlie's. You can see it for the first time.

The curtains are open, for once. The window is a bit dusty, but you could take a peek inside if you squinted hard enough...

 _Nuh-uh_.

You shake your head resolutely and resolve to sit down to work. Your trusty Micron laptop has been sitting half-opened on the sturdy kitchen table since the beginning of the month – it's covered with dust now. _No more_ – you will wrap up the final chapter of the "Pearlescent dragon" tonight, you think booting it up.

You can feel inspiration pumping in your veins, ready to grant the story at least three new layers of hidden meanings-

The document still blares a garish white that assaults your eyes, two hours later, and the insertion point winks condescendingly when you lift your head from where it rests on your forearms. You feel desperation setting heavily inside of you – it makes your body feel so heavy, like a marble statue...

 _It's pointless_ , you think but still try and rake your head for possible directions your plot can go before it ends – but there's nothing inside of you now, none useful device that could help propel the story to its conclusion.

The dragon the colour of mother-of-pearl simply doesn't exist in you. You don't feel it anymore, more precisely. Traditional stories would have it slain at the hands of the hero – or the princess, if the author wants the easy not-quite-transgression. Your dragon is lonely and isolated as it is – and the protagonist lacks any meaningful substance to go beyond what's expected. Maybe because you-

No, it's not that you fail to appreciate the beauty of the beasts – you've trekked miles through the mud and sun-scorched plains to marvel at it, filling pages and pages with sketches and full-blown pictures. They're arresting, striking – out of this world unreal. You could build a considerable purple prose vocab bank just following that line of thinking.

The problem is, you haven't been able to go beyond the skin deep, purple prose for some time now.

Thoughts of aborting the project slither in, uninvited...You jerk from where your cheek is plastered to the worn out wood of the table and jump from the stool, angry and burnt out. _Your Ma didn't raise no quitter_ , and you pace around the kitchen with scorching desperation brewing beneath your skin.

 _Maybe I'll just draw some more_ , you think then and rummage in the chest where you keep all your supplies organized neatly. A thought comes to you when you lift a delicate brush you must've misplaced somehow – watercolour seems like a gentle pursuit for a tempest mind.

You put on your beloved sweats (Disneyland souvenir, big Goofy on your chest because, _well_ ), gather watercolour and sketching supplies and sit down on the veranda. Tapping the pencil to your chin, you envision some test sketches in your head; they will dot your sketchbook before you'd move onto a precious leaf of a thick paper that lies prepared under the masonite board.

If only writing on demand came as fluid and effortless as the lines you're putting on paper – Norberta's furious stance reveals itself with every scratch and line you put down, thin and precise like a slash of her tail; or bold, dynamic ones that map out the lines of her back, the deadly ridges there...

You don't want to picture her destroying the forest she usually seeks safety in; it's your fault she had to defend her territory after all. The dragon doesn't look monstrous under your hand because of that – merely alarmed. There's an empty space where her belly should be-

It feels like a person should stand there, somebody who could maybe prevent the rampage...

 _Ah yes_ , you think, lips stretching into indulgent smirk. There is one such legend here after all. Your hand is quick and efficient as you sketch the man exactly as he looked in front of Olly this evening. _Damn, did he got a shapely ass or what?_

You reserve the best for the original piece then – and put gouache over the watercolour skilfully, to highlight the unreal vibrancy of Charlie's hair just like you've seen it today. It looks like rubies and you sigh dreamily. It'shimmering like precious jewels - this kind of beauty was well worth being jealously hidden by dragons of old stories...

Norberta seemed territorial enough.

Painting refreshes you like writing no longer can and your mind quiets a little – you leave the finished design to dry off on the table outside, along the others you've done since yesterday; they need to get straightened out after riding in the tube the whole day. According to the weather divinations you've done in the morning, this part of the reserve won't see a threat of the storm tonight so they're safe here.

You haven't switched off the power on your laptop after all – the blank page looks inviting though all of a sudden. You have an idea...

 

4.

( _30th August, 2000_ _[_ _23_ _:00]_ _)_

_"I_ _t wasn't a dragon tha_ _t_ _needed rescuing, he realized - anymore than he did. It'd rather be left-"_

The sounds of heavy wind ditracts you from the lull in the writing process – you've been boring your eyes into it for some time now, as if the solution could present itself to you without any effort. Well, fat chance for that. And you don't like what you've written so far, at all.

_It's cliche, pseudo-ecology bullshit and Ghibli does it better so why bother-_

A grave sigh escapes you. _Face it, you have nothing to say_ , a voice whispers in your head and you massage your temples slowly; a migraine creeps up on you – it must be the weather changing...

Weather. Changing. Wind. Chiming-

You're out of the door faster than you could apparate, casting frantic glances around – the table is empty, to no surprise really. The drawings and sketches litter the ground around the house now, cast aside by the wind that grows with every minute. Dew soaks your slippers in no time.

You pick the artworks up one by one, tears threatening to spill any second now. Holding your babies close to your heart, tiredness pushes you to go back inside and sit by the table like a despairing matriarch. You give them a cursory once-over – those sketches that can move clamor for your attention furiously, presenting you wings that got blotted away, snouts disfigured and talons washed away...

They look so miserable and pitiful, you tear up for real now. Your body feels so tired, mind thousands miles away, in your editor's cold beige office on Broadway, negotiating the termination of your contract— _The cornfields could always welcome you back_ , and that macabre thought makes you weep.

Still, you take your wand and tap each drawing gently – it freezes the movement on the pages, allowing you to apply new designs wherever possible with, well, a magi pen. A few lines here and there – and the Chinese Fireball has its tail back. Another tap of the wand and all the misty colours gather themselves unto their rightful places, and the lines themselves disappear – the first watercolour is saved.

The work carries you like this well into the night, a pitiful Cinderella of your own making, and only when your neck aches and sand lines up behind your eyes, do you lift your head up and allow yourself to stretch. One glance at the hour shown on the monitor pushed aside and it's half past midnight now. Tomorrow you're supposed to see the Opaleyes – you won't see nothing sleeping on your legs though.

Body wobbly a little after standing up, your hair are still wet after the shower and clothes unpleasantly damp on your neck – you haven't realized how stressed and sweaty you've been all this time. Water that you pour from the tap overfills the mug and splashes onto the sleeve of your sweatshirt – you decide to splash some on your face as well. Then you freeze, a dish towel crumpled under your chin.

The lights are on in the kitchen that faces yours. There are no curtains drawn as well – and a redhead you've avoided this evening looks at you over the cup of--tea maybe?, bewildered. You can't get a good look at his face though, too tired and downright burnt out. Your hair are tousled beyond measure, eyes red and watery and you're pretty sure there's snot on half of your chin.

What a marvelous meet-cute.

"I have no time for this nonsense", you grumble under your breath, furious. It's not like it's Charlie's fault, your predicament. The guy just happens to live here. Still, at this moment, you want him, the reserve, its dragons, your book, your dragon – and most of all your damn inept idiot of a protagonist that your editor keeps pushing onto you, to kindly _go and fuck themselves._

Hand shooting forwards, you draw the curtains with finality, using ther frilly end to wipe the snot from your face as well. Might as well forget her manners, go back to the backwoods-

_To hell if you will quit like this._

 

 


	2. Opaleyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a day left at the Reserve, you discover Opaleyes on your own – and meet an elusive tamer who went after you.

1.

_(31th August, 2000 [04:30])_

“ _Go there alone, he says_ ”, you mutter under your breath, plodding through the dewy bridleway with a pained grimace. It’s 4 a.m and, unable to sleep that much tonight, you decided to take up Olly’s offer and see the Opaleyes on your own – just as the night has ended and darkness sleepily lifts itself over the compound until all is slicked in muddy greys.

And what a night it was! You’ve been tossing and turning till the bed sheets were creased beyond recognizable, the duvet forgotten on the floor, along with your sweats soon after that; the cabin was too hot and opening the window did very little – the air grew stagnant the second the storm died down. Between loosing consciousness and jumping straight under the cold shower, you maybe sandwiched two to three hours of sleep.

And that made you cranky.

The exciting part of your morning is that you’ll be able to visit opaleyes on your own, something you mentioned to Olly more than once and been on your best behaviour to achieve; something about them lures you in – you have a suspicion that up close their beauty rivals even the most sumptuous reproductions. Their territory is closest to this part of campsite and Olly cleared you to go with the higher-ups; night shifters would let you in and make sure you’d be safe.

You have a sneaking suspicion Olly’s considerate offer has something to do with rare day off he and Aurel were able to take today. That’s fine by you, you’re good on your own and everyone needs some quality time.

Grass is wet and slippery under your boots when you head out, only a sketch tube and a bag across your chest. You didn’t even bother with weather divinations – might as well roll with what nature throws at you. If you recall, there was a time when you rather enjoyed exploring, and elements of surprise that came with it…You’re in a melancholic mood this morning, and need gentle sights and sounds for comfort as you walk forwards. Birds don’t sing much yet – but an odd and soft trill and warble here and there follows you in your journey.

Ground is a little bit wet still and you’re thankful for the heavy boots and the leggings you’re wearing. The road ahead is long, but comfortable – thousands boots beat a trail in here that’s difficult to miss and soon you forgo the map Olly gave you. Though still a bit bleary, you keep your eyes open, relishing in every detail around you; ferns guard the trail on both sides, the borders they form rolling forward like unspooled wool] leading your sight forwards and forwards, far away.

This early on, colours around you are muted and contours on things still somewhat lazy and static. Everything is lethargic and magically suspended in time, and you begin imagining your protagonist strolling along, determined-

A crunch under your shoe catches your attention just then – you’ve just killed a snail while looking around for inspiration.

 _Ugh_.

This sums up your relationship with nature all right.

2. 

_(31th August, 2000 [05:00])_

“Boy, are you early”, the gal clearing you in sighs and you try not to roll you eyes. So what if you like to sleep in. Half of the campsite knows it apparently though… _big deal._

“Couldn’t sleep”, you mumble, mouth downturned. On the brightside, the frogs serenading around the campsite made your night just a bit more bearable – you were the odd one that enjoyed their concerts. Marie, the French handler who is suppoed to show you the dragons (“it’s a pair, you won’t see this often”, she enthuses and your Disney radar tingles) waves you into the enclosure thenn and you take a cautious step forward.

The wards begin immediately after the apparition point and you feel magic seeping through every cell in your body as if you were being sieved. It’s a wonder the people here are this passionate that they subject themselves to it willingly – one more reason why you respect them so much.

“Just wait for me a bit, gotta grab my replacement  _who’s clearly slacking off on her job_ -”, Marie mutters and you snicker. You saw the girl finishing eating before you apparated, sitting at the table hastily set up by the border hut – the rangers here are honestly tough to spend their nights in those dingy bothies, for sure.

 _Let_ _her_ _eat her breakfast,_ _come on_ , you think watching Marie disapparating. She deserves it – Olly showed you one of these places, the sleeping platforms alone could give one arthritis; not fun!

A lilting sound carries through the air just then; it comes from where the ground lifts a little and ends abruptly in what’s presumably a deep chasm. There has to be a valley of sorts not far away, deep in the ravine and you strain your hearing. Intrigued, it'not difficult to convince yourself that sneaking forward seems like an exciting prospect, and not at all a death wish.

Marie still isn’t there after 10 minutes pass – and you’re so close, the melodic voices down below enticing you to crawl forward, take a peek…

“Holy-”, you cuss with emphasis, jaw on the ground. Deep down below, on a rugged outcropping flanked by trees, shrubbery and rich undergrowth, a pair of dragons lay resplendent even in the dimmed, hushed colours of the hour. There’s a river, a spring really, a pale, silvery ribbon where they dip their tails graciously.

You rub your eyes at the sight, speechless and not only because you’re this tired.

The Antipodean Opaleye has been your pearlescent dragon all along. Everything, from the creamy scales glowing powdery blue or pink at times, to the lavender eyes and even the voice, birdlike–. It’s Her, the secondary protagonist of your book and you dab at tears pricking at your eyes impatiently – you do’t want to waste even a second. It feels real, no longer an echo of something you must’ve seen as a kid and included in your book out of sentiment.

The shapes resting below look like sculptures that came to life – but it’s their vitality that sends your thoughts racing, filling in the gaps in characterization your previous lack of motivation for writing had left. There’s a pair you can see clearly and you take in their beauty greedily. You scribble down some observations that can come in handy for fleshing out your dragon better – how dignified they carry themselves, yet how they react to each other with spontaneity; they’re  _playing with each other_  now. Not loners, as you thought – this shocks you.

The way they curl their tails together, so adorable-

You don’t want to waste any time, all thoughts of sleep gone the second you noticed the amazing creatures below. Heart thumps in your chest and the pastel you’ve fished from your bag crushes a bit in your fingers when you lift the pale blue coloured one. Olly said to bring something powdery and soft, and now you see why. The colours glimmering in the dim light make you dizzy.

 _Black and grey would feel like blasphemy,_   you think, body bent forward precariously and knees already wet with dew— when there was so much sea foam, and violets, and pink sunrises and snowy whites in their colours…

“Any further and you’re dragon food”, a hoarse voice cautions from behind you, close enough for a shiver to tickle your spine when a hand steadies you. It’s not Marie’s voice, that’s for sure. You didn’t hear anyone coming, so deep in your work that even being bent this far over the ravine didn’t alarm you. You could truly fall down, there’s no disputing this. Looking down, your belly lurches.

“Thanks for the heads up”, you mutter, the pastels rolling down from your suddenly very stiff fingers. The man beside you takes the sketchbook from you gently and you crawl back on your knees a bit – your head begins to swim then and you close your eyes for a second. Still, when you take a deep breath and sit surely on your bum, you allow your legs to dangle over the chasm because one should never let the fear consume you. Plus you wnt to look brave to establish some equal ground with whatever grizzled ranger had approached you.

“No problem. Olly told me you’re a handful when in the zone”, the man besides you chuckles good naturedly and your eyes shot open.  _Come again…?._ Y/E/C meets brown and your eyes take in the broad, angular face in front of you, the thick ponytail resting on the man’s arm and the brilliant orange-red that bleeds out colour even when everything else apart from the dragons is so muted…

“Well damn me, it’s– _you_ ”, you stammer, unable to hold to your manners – and your hard-won NYC accent. That twang would out you everywhere.

“It’s me”, he says absentmindedly, voice dreamy as he drags his eyes from your face to the sketches on his laps.You still take his outstretched hand, exchanging introductions over a firm handshake and you look dumbfounded on how big his hand looks over yours. It’s pleasant though and none of you are in hurry to let go. Must be the sluggishness of those wee hours in the morning when everything is so static-

“Look at me, the right idiot. Gotta let your hand–go”, he murmurs eventually and looks as surprised to be there as you are, and you laugh, out loud and a bit hysterically; remembering last evening with creeping mortification. You want to jump straight into the deep ravine stretching below your dangling feet, but then you’re also caught dead in your tracks, intrigued – Charlie Weasley would look absolutely stunning on a portrait, _where are the pastels-_

The man in front of you massages his neck and smiles sheepishly because he apparently noticed you appraising him - and that instinctual grab on the sketchbook… You feel both panicked and vindicated; as if yes,  you were supposed to meet somebody just your type over the picturesque ravine, where dragons roam in the valley below and indeed, this story will go straight to your next book-

“What on Merlin’s balls are you doing here, Y/N”, Charlie asks then, snapping up from whatever trance he’s been and he chuckles at your panicked sputtering, mischievous smile dancing on his lips. They’re worthy your prized Sennelier’ reds – you’d blend a bit of Chinese vermilion with magnificently bloody Helios red…You almost moan, a face to your elusive silhouette from last night so unexpectedly charming–

Charlie doesn’t look as repulsed by your shifting into muse appraisal mode as some of your less fortunate subjects; if anything, he looks a bit bashful, skin pink as a Japanese peach. You explain yourself, glad somebody was there after all – it could easily go south if you were to be noticed and you agree to not go anywhere unsupervised;  _a price for adventurous disobedience_ , Charlie says, but doesn’t seem at all bothered; dare you say he sends you an appreciative glance? Does it mean he will accompany you today?

When he’s helping you collect the scattered pastels you notice he’s hiding one hand behind his back. Suspicious, you lift one brow up, willing him to spill what’s in there and the burly man in front of you looks adorable this flustered, chewing his upper lip that blooms vermillion all right…

“Frankly speaking, I was supposed to sleep in today…”, Charlie starts, backing off a bit as you subtly advance. “Especially after a sleepless night-”

“The frogs?”, you ask, voice flat.

“The frogs man, it’s either them chittering or the mosquitoes biting you, can’t say I quite enjoy living in the-”

 _“Charlie,_ what do you have in there…?”, you press and watch him positively squirm. “I’m trying to explain-”, he mutters and averts his eyes just as you lean forward, trying to take a peek.

“Ok, so I couldn’t sleep and went out for a bit – only to find  _this_  on my porch”, Charlie says eventually, producing a sheet of A4 paper, just as your face goes adequately paper-white; it’s the Norberta watercolour that pictures him so boldly from behind and the man whistles quietly, seeing you going white to red and back again. You can’t fail to notice that he put it into a laminated file – did he sacrifice some of his paperwork for that??“.

“I’m so sorry, it’s probably creeping you out-”, you stammer with throat suddenly so full of bile you’d like to throw up and bury yourself in the ground. To your tortured apologies Charlie adds an uproarious laughter, all white teeth and raspy voice, and it makes you stop wringing your hands for a while. “You’re not angry?”.

“It’s the best compliment a bloke could ask for”, Charlie assesses his silhouette lovingly. “I mean, I didn’t know I look  _this_  good from behind”, he adds, tapping the sketch on his literal behind and you groan, hiding your face in your palms. Guilty as charged! Hopefuly you can talk some more and come through as someone who has more to them than a keen eye for  _ah, details_ – so far he hasn’t thrown the sketch in your face and stormed off dramatically, so that’s a head start.

The redhead shifts from his crouching position to sit down on the grass next to you and sending a furtive glance in his direction, you notice that the jeans on his knees are as green as yours; he doesn’t seem to mind at all, swinging his legs happily over the ravine where they bump against yours. It looks like not much can faze this guy – not gigantic lizards, certainly not some mud or steep heights. You like that in people.

“I can gift it to you”, you blurt out suddenly, thinking that if the universe wants to torture you with hot guys discovering the fruits of your thirst, the universe might as well help you cover the tracks of your thirsty crimes. For the sake of balance. And also because, despite never ever telling it to anyone, you like the thought of meeting the right person in right circumstances; and he found your drawing before coming to you, which means you’re destined to each other according to romance novel logic. And romance novel comes in your plans right after this one!

All the while, Charlie keeps staring at you, his mouth opened a little in surprise. He then looks at the sketch in his hand in muted wonder – perhaps he sees something more in there and you feel suddenly elated. “Really?”. This kind of reaction wakes up some fluttering in your stomach and you fiddle with the edges of your parka, suddenly self-conscious.

“If you like it…”

The redhead looks contemplative and his silence makes you in turn self-conscious and oddly proud. The dull sky behind him grows veined with pink as cracks appear in the clouds above and you think about the Opaleyes below suddenly, their melodic voices breaking through the momentay stupor Charlie threw you in. You dearly wish you could see them up close – and in that very moment the man in front of you jumps to his feet and reaches his hand out to you.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you the prettiest dragons as a token of my gratitude. Thats how much I like it”, he murmurs and you take his hand without a second thought.

It’s all for the sake of balance.

3.

_(31th August, 2000 [05:30])_

“I don’t know man”, you drawl after Charlie finishes explaining his plan to you. Looking deep below where the creatures chill, you wince and a crease forms on your forehead. You keep chewing on your mouth and Charlie sends you a charismatic smile, meant probably to encourage you – with his teeth flashing pearly white like that he looks like a Texas oil magnate. If those were handsome.

“Don’t you want to see them? Really  _close_  up?”, he enthuses, gesturing towards the opaleyes.  _Oh yes you do._

Sure you want to see them. But the two of you have just met, it’s not Olly who you more or less trust…  _Screw this, let’s go_ , you think just as quick, lured in by the creatures and their tamer in equal measure. Your protagonist is supposed to be curious – let them be adventurous to that purpose, just like you right now.  

Charlie’s face lights up at your assent. “You’re not gonna regret it, it’ll be fantastic”, he says. The anticipation feels like Christmas morning and it buoys you to brave outside your comfort zone once again. His hands are sure on your forearm as the man guides you, down the narrow path that cuts into the mountainside diagonally. You’re torn between mumbling that you can walk on your own and clinging to him for dear life – your calves feel as if on fire after several minutes of treading on the extreme steepness under your feet. But the views are breathtaking and you drink them in desperately, fixated.

The air is crisp and it nips at your nose and the tips of your ears; you can safely guess your face is as apple pink as Charlie’s and you give your hands a quick rub. It’s still a bit dark and you discuss using this for your advantage, given that opaleye’s sight isn’t sharp. This, and also it’s their mating season, late summer. They mostly pay attention to themselves, you hear.

“So wait, they only meet in August?”, you whisper to Charlie from where you’re plastered to the wide and flat outcropping that is shielded with just enough shrubbery that you remain invisible to the creatures some three hundred meters in front of you.

“Normally, yes. Those two keep to each other all year through”, the redhead says, growing contemplative.

“Strange” you whisper. “Have they been together long?”.

“Seven years. They weren’t supposed to mate actually”, Charlie whispers back and you roll on your back and chuckle.

“Love despite the odds then? How humanely romantic”, you drawl and the man doesn’t miss the ironic bite in your tone.

“Not the biggest fan of soulmates? Personally, I find those stories reassuring”, he muses and you see him observing the dragons with a fond smile on his lips. To his confession you give a noncommited hum. It occures to you nobody told you about his personal life and there you’ve been, sallivating over him with your— _art._ You suddenly feel a bit cagey.

“The way you speak, you must be a romantic guy out for a chosen one, am I right?”.

You’re actually curious, wondering if his lifestyle even allowed for those things – solitary observation, handler work that made grown wizards and witches bone weary to the point potion medicating was necessary…Who had space in their heart for gothic-novel level outbursts of affection or even domestic bliss? Was he the domestic or wuthering hills-type, anyway? Was he even interested in those things at all?

“Wrong”, Charlie quips, rolling a blade of grass in his thumb and you lift yourself on your elbow, surprised. Shoot, not searching? Not interested? Or already found one-scenario, which will it be?

“Go on please, this was cryptic enough”, you invite him to continue in an amused tone, making a motion with your chin and Charlie rolls his eyes.

“Am I quixotic enough to catch your attention now?”, he teases and you wonder if you come across as somebody who needs to be impressed this badly. Well, you might as well allow yourself get impressed.

“I mean, mentioning heavy stuff like this and saying you’re not out there for one feels like a bit of contradiction”, you edge him on. Soulmates may not be romantic at all - your best friend back home is one - but still. You need to know more, always out there for subtle shades of human motivation that could fuel your craft. Like a vulture.

“Let’s keep the mystery for now, shall we?”. Charlie gives you another of his charismatic smiles and you notice that hiding behind charming smokescreens is something you both share. You file this for later contemplation – for now your attention is back at the dragons.

“Tell me about these two then”, you ask as the two of you thread towards the creatures carefully, still safe under dim morning light – the creatures wouldn’t be able to notice you like that. No sooner you lay down on the ground when leaves and twigs get in your hair and dew drenches your clothes. You’re itching to get back to drawing and Charlie charms the grass dry with  a nifty spell – you take note of its pronounciation and hand movements for later use,

His sketch is safe back in the tube and he looks at your working with interest. “Do you draw?”, you ask and he nods seriously, eyes on the brilliantly pearly sheen you’re finishing the sketch with.

“It’s hardly professional but I can show you sometime”, he says absentmindedly.  _Sometime?_ You’re going tomorrow – unless it’s today-

“Ah shoot, I broke it”, you cuss and pocket the pastel stump with a grimace. A sad fate for an artist too caught up in the mundane. “You were saying the dragons– that they weren’t supposed to mate, what did you mean?”, you ask Charlie to distract yourself from growing irritated –  _pastels br_ _ea_ _k_ , but somehow this simple occurence made you angry,  _every.time_.

“Well, none of them was thought to be actually fertile, it turned out after a while”, Charlie begins and his voice grows somber. “We try to keep the numbers enough to propagate the species – but also not too high, so-”, he makes a vague gesture with his chin and you catch on easily.

“Do you euthanize them?”, you want to know and look up at him seriously, a new sketch forgotten for a bit. It seems logical, and what other way can there be? Still, you sympathize watching the serious arch of his mouth-

“It’s a whole process, assessing which younglings will have biggest chances to survive. It begins with careful monitoring of the eggs, spell diagnostics, arithmancy even-”.

“You crunch numbers the old way?”, you laugh and wither a bit under his offended stare. “I’m just saying, computer modeling is an increasingly developing field…”, you defend and watch him wave it away with an air of subtle superiority. But of course a British wizard would be wary of technology!You spoke it out loud it turns out and Charlie pretends he’s shocked and incensed very convincingly – if he were a cartoonish elderly lady from a costume movie that is, and you crack up, the loud ring to your laugh something that the dragons not that far from you actually  _notice_.

“-crap, run young lady–”, Charlie bites out shrilly, still in-character, and the combination of his theatrics and probably fear for your life makes you nearly piss your pants. You’re laughing when both of you jump from the ground, his hand comforting over yours, and you haven’t stopped still when you make landing over the ravine, the apparition leaving you breathless. Charlie laughs at your tear-stricken face and his own idiocy probably as he drags you to the apparition point just as well. Some eight people pass you two in a hurry, obviously headed down to calm down the incensed creatures below. They talk to each other in rushed, clipped voices and you feel suddenly guilty for burdening them with all this.

“It’s the second time you make a dragon chase you-”, a voice from behind startles you and the redhead at your side chortles as the girl who’d let you in closes on you with an exasperatd sigh and a scowl. Yes, that’s true – you are somewhat of an unlucky dragon-bait, turns out.

“We’re getting off your back Marie,  _ma crevette_ , don’t worry. Making our exit right-now”, Charlie says quickly, the look on his face a cross between a chastised kid and guilty labrador dog. He waves to Marie just as he’s pushing you into the apparition point - before the boss handler has time to strangle you two for  _making her job so hard this regular morning-_

“Bloody idiot I am, acting like an intern back there”, the man wheezes as the both of you land square on your assess in the middle of a glade some seconds afterwards, the unsteady magic between you most probably the reason for altering the course of apparition weaved into the spell. You’re a bit breathless yourself and fail to feel guilty enough – you’re both alive, are you not? And he was so damn hilarious, you don’t remember laughing this hard and free since leaving home. You try to say something and lift your hand to have his attention – but the shaky apparition kicked off all the air from your lungs and you’re obviously struggling.

“Thanks for your quick reflexes, I wanted to say”, you breathe eventually, rolling on your side to face the scowling redhead to your right; he acknowledges you with a grumpy grunt that has you rolling your eyes at the drama levels. “Quick, sure. But dumb still”, he grouses and you nod at him with a sympathising grimace.

“If it makes it any less burdensome, we’d make a fine pair of clowns back there”, you say and offer your fist for him to bump, which he does with a pained look on his face. You can see his mouth is all wavy and jumpy – he’s fighting the smile, it’s so obvious.

“Well, wherever we are, we’d better apparate to somewhere else. Who knows what could eat us here”, Charlie mutters then, masking his mirth with concern - but isn’t too keen on leaving the ground at all. In fact he does exactly opposite, patting the ground and making himself comfortable like your red haired cat, Apricat, usually does.

“No shit”, Charlie bursts into a full belly laughter when you tell him this, droplets of water clinging to his hair glittering in the first golden rays of sun that rises to the east. Your mouth feels lax all of a sudden and you close your eyes, seeking a bit of coolness from the wet grass under your cheek.  _You could use some fresh water for that raging thirst of yours_ , you hiss internally to yourself, your thoughts venomous – you don’t allow yourself to feel a lot of enthusiasm for the male species usually.

You’re laying flat on the ground now, but a young owlet tired from mischief, with grass obscuring your cheek. With one eye cracked tentatively open, you’re watching Charlie massage his thigh to the tune of a particularly colourful string of curses. He’d fit right in with Uncle Virgil, for sure.

“Tell me about your beginnings here. You have quite a reputation after so many years-”, you ask, interested in his story. You had done everything you could to escape the hellish desolation of the Corn Belt – and here he was, escaping to the Carpathian refuge even if he could have the pulsating bustle of London right under his fingertips. You want to see what made him tick so differently from you.

“But of course, I was a wee lad aged seventeen then-”, Charlie launches into his story, stretching himself loungingly on the grass, muscular arms folded under his head and his shirt riding a bit (a lot) up and you try not to swallow too loudly.  _Be strong, Y/N. Do it for Mother_ , you think and try hard to concentrate on the intricacies of the Reserve’s training policy and fail –  _this_  Charlie notices right away.

“Clearly I should trim  _that_ story to be fit for an amateur”, he drawls and you pat him on the bicep jokingly.

“Truth to be told, it was abysmally boring, Weasley”, you observe and roll away when he bops you with his foot, laughing; a tender smile creeps up on your face that you can scarcely wipe off in time – and Charlie mellows considerably at its sight.

“What I wanted to know, and forgive me for not wording it properly–”, you begin, looking at the sky that loses some of its fresh pinkn in favour of peachy oranges and gold in front of your very eyes. A content smile is  dancing on your lips. Unaware of his gaze trained intensely on  your face, you voice your true curiosity then.  _Why here, so far away from home?_ You glance to your side, his previous scrutiny darting off as soon as he catches you looking. Charlie gives a strained sigh and chews on his lip, eyes closed. He seems to be deciding how much you should be told.

“Why, is it that atypical? I thought you ran from your home state just as well?”, he attempts to evade the core of your question with a query of his own, and you throw him an exasperated kind of smile.

“I did”, you indulge him, a picture of your family home bringing the same sting of guilt it always did. “But I think– if I had the same opportunities-it wouldn’t be this far”. There, you’ve said it. You’d always prefer the chaos and energy of big cities. It’s just that you-

“-miss the family, eh?”, Charlie asks tactfully, and you absolutely detest that serious downturn of his mouth. Feels too much like yours. Feels like he evades your question even more.

“Do you wish to talk about something else then?”, you ask, unwilling to push if that was a painful topic to breach for him as well.

“Hell no-”, Charlie exhales nervously, then ruffles his hair in frustration. “That is, yes, we can talk about anything, it’s just-”. He looks up, some intense question in his eyes that you’re wary of him spelling out. It feels a bit strange, to just jump into his head like that, combat boots on, but hey. You’ve already sketched his butt in tight jeans, might as well ask some personal questions for a good measure.

“I’m sorry if it’s too personal”, you deflate still, a bit lightheaded. You’re a writer, your lot is vultures, out for blood, why would you have any qualms-

“It’s not that bad– I mean, sure, you did slide straight in, can’t lie”, Charlie waves his hand at you and you plop your face on the grass, skin pink and very very warm now. “I’m more afraid if it’s personal or just, you know, professional curiosity you’re having here?”.

Oh. Oh yes, you did jump right in as if it was an interview or data gathering. Field work, if one would prefer. No lube, true. But it’s personal, you realize, and you lift yourself into all fours, your mischievous little smile pining him down, the man looking like a flustered schoolboy, you can see that. You were told your eyes could shine like That, and it’s probably this.

“It’s personal”, you say clearly, face serious. “I mean, I want to know something about you, it’s not for the book—or something. Just for me”, you add that last part in a softer tone and plop down on your ass, reaching for the dandelion that grows next to your knee; you have a habit of twining flower crowns when there’s any kind of plant available for that. You need that methodic calm right now or you will ask Charlie bloody Weasley to marry you next. This weird, nervous enthusiasm you’re feeling about the guy smells like trouble to you.

“Oh. That’s – cool. Weird, but I’m okay with weird”, he laughs, and joins you on the ground, looking for the best dandelions to supply you with. You work in silence for a while, his fingers surprisingly agile when you show him how to weave one of his own. “Maybe I’ll gift it to Marie, a conciliatory offering. She was my first friend here, you know”, he adds. You wonder if he was lonely in the beginning – New York was so hectic, your head would burst with all the stimuli.

“New York felt--lonely, desolate; even with all the people there and hell, there's hardly any space there. Can imagine here it had to be doubly so”, you muse, exchanging dandelions with the man next to you – they would fit better that way. Charlie hums his agreement and tells you about his first winter here – he couldn’t visit his family, and it’s not like they could afford to do the same. This feels painfuly relatable and you say so, telling him about your first Christmas spent eating takewaway on the curb, down in Flushing. “Then I met my best friend, right when I was doing my laundry a few days after that”, you add, remembering how eventually you started carving your place in the city – you wonder when did he start feeling at home here.

“So tell me how did you guys hit it up–”, you ask then, and Charlie regales you with a tale of absolutely bloody muddy Christmas night, no snow and no stars on the sky, a man feshly made adult spending half of the night on the floor of this punk gal from Marseille, playing cards and swapping stories of youth and family. “I couldn’t move in the morning, I think we slept straight on the wooden boards. 3 in the morning, the first Opaleyes eggs hatched and let me tell you, you don’t want to be tipsy in moment like that. Puked my guts outside the nursery, then”, Charlie sighs dramatically but a fond smile ghosts on his lips. “Marie was really badass then, didn’t even bat her eye and went through the night like a pro. She’s been handling Opaleyes since then – the female one hatched right into her palms”.

You imagine what kind of impression holding a tiny dragon in your palm must do, still in the shell and blind. You’d be sketching that soon enough – this could go to the book as well, if Marie agrees. Your dreamy sigh and whispered “ _so badas_ s” makes Charlie bump his shoulder against yours.

“Something tells me Ollie forgot to sneak you into the nursery, am I right?”

You whip towards him, almost bumping your head against his, that’s how close you realize you’re sitting. “Can you get me in there?”, you ask, almost growling and he merely chuckles, putting his finished flower crown on your temples with ceremony.

“Maybe”, he quips as cryptically as humanely possible, squinting a bit after you plop your own piece of work on his head. He looks like a cross between a roughed up ranger and some kind of woodland deity and you cackle, batting his hands away when he tries to take it off, arguing it would get crumpled. He gives up, a wizened expression on his face – a man comfortable with what life throws at him. Seems to enjoy looking this good.

The drakling nursery. You want to get in there  _so much_ , but there’s probably not enough time. Still, it’s nice to sit there, as if you were to be exempt from time flowing, if just for a while, not knowing where exactly you are and how much time had passed. Naturally, you could get eaten by something just as well. B _ut that’s the charm of those kinds of adventures_ , you say to Charlie wisely when he mentions the being-eaten part, as the two you lay on the grass and observe how blue creeps shyly into the sky colourscape.

“I often wondered how people get to befriend others deeply”, you say. “It’s supposed to take years, right? And yet you guys got close overnight, and my best friend let me move in after a week, what the hell”.

“Maybe it’s circumstances? People kind of huddle for warmth”, Charlie observes but he sounds a bit distant. He’s known around here for keeping to himself – so far you’ve met a total three people who kept things somewhat personal with him. This is something that ’s immediately relatable for yourself just as well – at least recently, when whatever’s been happening with your creativity—your magic-had you keep only the most tried and true people close to your heart.

“You don’t huddle much?”, you ask, fixing him with a serious stare. He inclines his head at you, a subtle grimace a sufficient answer.

“I suppose I just wanna be seen myself, don’t need that much warmth”, you supply your own view. Attention seems safe enough in most circumstances, as hard as it is to come across the real deal.

“That sounds cold, no offence”, Charlie says quietly, tapping your hand to get your attention – you haven’t noticed that it was balled up in a fist and let it go only now.

“It’s just so I don’t feel as if I’m disappearing, I guess”, you say, avoiding his eyes and springing up to stand over him, hand outstretched. “I think I’ve heard screeching – sounds like your baby if I’m not mistaken”, you add slyly, knowing full well he’d ask no further questions if Norberta was involved.

Indeed, the man gives you a a probing glance but jumps to his feet enthusiastically all the same, eyes shining like a kid on a Boxing Day. “Norberta, you sure? We’re a lot farther than we should then”, he finishes with a sort of grim wonder, his forehead scrunched. Still he asks you to come with him, and make haste. With this, you have some experience – you almost ended up as Norberta’s snack the last time. Now though you notice he walks into the opposite direction – the well known to you forest looms to your right and you feel his hand tugging you  _left._

“Where are we going? The apparition point is-”

“There are wards beginning not far away – the handler point is there”, Charlie explains to you, a curious expression on his face. “You didn’t-oh yes, Olly sneaked you through the other one”, he chuckles and you feel like somebody smuggling a forbidden contraband all of a sudden, or a spy. It was fun dodging the handlers, you remember. How Olly went unnoticed, that’s only for your giant friend to know.

“Oh, I don’t know if I really want to go there,  _after the last time_ ” you croak, wondering how exactly you’ve ended up acting like a boarding school pseudo rebel exactly. Was it Ollie’s mischievous influence? Parental neglect? The need for  _clout_? Hilarious!

Charlie notices your stammering and smiles encouragingly. “The people here enjoy daring types like you, don’t worry about them. It’s time for breakfast anyway so you know, figured we’d both be hungry by now”. It’s true, you’re hungry. Ravenous, now that you allow yourself to listen to what your body is telling you.

“Yeah, I’m actually super hungry. Distract me please before I actually bite you”, you joke half-heartedly and are mildly surprised to see him actually think deeply what to say to this purpose. He then snaps his fingers, looking satisfied and gives you a sly smile.

“All right, let’s make a deal – tell me the weirdest things people in the USA do with magic, I’ll tell you the same. If you win I’ll take you see the draklings at night”, he ends triumphantly and drinks up the look of exhilaration in your eyes.

It’s a piece of cake. Alas-

“Where’s the catch? What if you win, obviously by some miraculous, infinitesmal, statistically improbable chance…?”, you ask, a mute challenge in your tone alone. You’re the same height so to add some pizzazz to your taunting, you step on some medium sized stone just laying around. You’re balancing effortlessly on just one foot – you wore some killer high heels in your day., and the things you’ve done in them…

Charlie juts his chin rebelliously at this, the “ _you’re on_ ” expression fighting with affectionate rolling of his eyes – he’s just too good-natured to match your queen bee attitude here. But he’s one of the best handlers here, the confidence he could tame you so evident on his smug face you almost grow to the shape of a fugu fish with fighting spirit.

“If I win, let me think…”. With his finger on his chin in a thoughtful gesture, Charlie allows himself a slightly impish wink at you still, and you suck in a breath, panicked horns blaring in your head. Was it flirty?. Are you flirting with  _your eyes-_?

“-day with me”, you hear him speaking eventually and blink slowly, getting back to reality with painful hesitance. “What?”, you ask in a clipped tone, too distracted to hear everything Charlie had said. “I’m so sorry, was ugh, daydreaming”, you erupt in a guilty tone, seeing his lips turn down this miserably.

“I said spend the rest of the day with me”, he reiterates, his eyes careful on your face. This is some epic romance material right there.

_Whoa._

“You’re on”, you drawl slowly, masking your agitation with bravado.

Now though you have no idea who exactly should win this anymore.


End file.
